


kaleidoscope colors

by hecckyeah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M, Fred Weasley Lives, Mostly Canon Compliant, except erase all the romione stuff, fear not, lots of other characters I haven't decided on yet, this is my new comfort fic, we stan fremione in this house
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28606899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecckyeah/pseuds/hecckyeah
Summary: Hermione gasped as she stumbled, but the kidnapper caught both her arms and grinned. “Sneaking around, are you, Granger? Have you finally figured out how boring weddings are?”“I usually don’t mind them,” Hermione insisted, trying to get her bearings in the mottled, shadowy corner of the tent. She looked up to sort out which twin had been so rude as to drag her away.She met his eyes, and instantly recognized that smirk.“Well, they are a lot better when there are other things to keep your attention,” Fred said with far too much joy in his voice.-Or: Three years after the war, and Hermione's life has finally gained some type of normalcy....But then again, what is "normal" anyway, especially in the wizarding world?
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	kaleidoscope colors

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there! And welcome to my first attempt at Harry Potter fanfiction. I'm mostly going by the movies here, since it really has been way, way too long since I've read the books last. But watching the movies again made me realize how much I've missed this fandom and how we were done dirty on a number of levels.  
> ...And it also served to remind me how much I ship Fremione. And how much I really need to write something for them already :)
> 
> So on that note, as always, enjoy!

As far as long, echo-y hallways went, Hermione had seen worse.

But then again . . . this almost took the cake.

It wasn’t unfamiliar to her. She had spent years walking this same hall, from class to class . . . to her dormitory and back again . . .

But now she shivered as she crept across the rubble, wand held tightly in her right hand. The hallway echoed and whispered with unforgiving blankness, as the first rays of morning sun shone through the gaping side of the castle.

These very stones which she crawled and picked her way over had almost taken the lives of her friends. And if not for Percy’s quick thinking . . . very well would have. 

Hermione came to a stop, heaving herself onto a large stone. She rolled her wand in her hand and stared out toward the lake. She needed silence. A break from the endless, stifling talking and whispering and planning of funerals and cleaning and—

“The stones aren’t going to fix themselves, you know.”

Hermione’s gaze flew to meet the intruder’s eyes. She breathed a sigh of relief and forced her hand to relax around her wand. “George . . . you startled me.”

“Sorry, Granger.” The redhead gestured toward his left ear. “Fred, actually.”

She nodded. Should have known that. 

“Sorry, I should be helping, I just . . .” she stared down at her hands. “Needed a break.”

Fred nodded in agreement and absentmindedly kicked a stray rock. “Everyone does. I think they’ve given up on cleaning for now. Except Filch, of course.”

A tiny grin lit Hermione’s face at the image of Filch with his raggedy old broom, helplessly pushing at piles of rubble.

“Mum is worried about you,” Fred added by way of explanation. “Sent me to find you.”

“I’m alright. Thank you.” 

At the moment, any further talking seemed impossible, even with the endlessly chatty Weasley twin. The words she wanted to say—mixed with the tears she wished she could cry—stuck in her throat. 

It had hardly been twenty-four hours since the battle.

And no one was alright, no matter how often they said otherwise.

Hermione knew that everyone involved would have lasting scars, whether those were physical or mental. Or both. It was impossible to escape.

Her hands shook slightly, and she blinked. Cleared her throat.

The clouds had finally given way, and the sun made its grand entrance after what seemed like years of darkness.

“Sort of nice up here, don’t you think?” Fred’s voice cut through the silence, and Hermione watched him shift his weight from foot to foot in her peripheral vision. “Would be a decent spot for an outlook.”

“Maybe,” Hermione agreed, “if we hadn’t almost died up here yesterday.” She didn’t move her eyes from the shining lake.

“We almost died everywhere yesterday,” Fred corrected her.

She didn’t mean to crumble like she did. She didn’t want to cry more than she already had. 

For a while it had felt like her tears were fully spent, mourning the loss of Harry, then crying at his return. She remembered her tears staining the marble floor of the Malfoy’s manor. The scar on her forearm still stung. Her tears had joined the salty waves as she watched the life seep out of Dobby, his small body crumbling in Harry’s arms. She had cried herself to sleep all those long, long nights in the tent when she didn’t know if Ron was alive or dead, and all she had was the blasted radio as her source of comfort.

The sun rose slowly over the lake, almost hesitantly. And her tears followed.

As a sudden, heaving sob erupted from her chest, she turned aside so her back faced the intruding Weasley brother.

She cried for all the lives lost. She cried for families torn apart. She cried because she knew that nothing could ever be the same. Nothing could ever be normal again.

War left scars. No one was immune to that.

She cried for years of grief and pain that Harry had gone through. No one should have that much weight on their shoulders. 

She cried for orphans of war. For little Teddy Lupin. A new generation of children without parents . . .

She cried for her own parents. Merlin knew when (or if) she could ever see them again.

She cried all the tears she had been too afraid to cry.

A hand rested itself upon her shoulder. “You sure you’re alright, Granger?”

Hermione took a shaking breath, swiping desperately at the hot tears that fell to her chin, down onto her stained jeans. She glanced up into Fred’s concerned eyes . . . and shook her head. No. 

Of course she wasn’t alright, and she was sick of lying.

Fred sat carefully next to her on the stone, and wrapped his arm around her back, gently, allowing her head to fall onto his shoulder. He didn’t say anything more, and for that she was grateful.

.

.

**_three years later_ **

.

.

Fred Weasley woke with a shout.

His hand flung onto the bed and he pushed himself halfway up. His hair hung in his face, and his eyes flew around the room. 

It was empty.

He took a gasping breath. 

A violent, ice-cold shiver flew up his spine and lodged in his skull. He had thought it was just a dream . . . 

It was just a dream, wasn’t it? Just another nightmare, one of the endless nightmares that had plagued him for years.

Just a dream. Right?

It didn’t feel like a dream.

“George,” he whispered, on the verge of hysterics . . . afraid of the answer. “Geor—”

The bedroom door slammed open, and his twin burst through. “Right here, Freddie.” 

Fred stared up for a moment, trying to get his bearings.

“Nightmare?” George asked, coming to stand next to the bed. He crossed his arms. “I had one too.”

Finally, Fred let his body relax. His brother was alive and well, within arm’s reach, and the shadows in the room started to clear. 

A beam of light from the hallway crept in through the door. 

With a heavy sigh, Fred buried his face in his hands and tried to rub away the exhaustion from his eyes. He let a bit of laughter erupt from his chest. “Never seem to get a break—do we, Georgie?” 

“Seems like that,” the wizard agreed. “Now—” he stood and gave his twin a hefty pat on the back, “—get up and get ready. Wedding’s today, remember?”

.

.

.

“Stop moving, will you?” Hermione gave an impatient huff and shook Harry’s shoulders, re-centering him in her line of vision. “And you aren’t helping, Ronald,” she added.

“Sorry,” Harry said quickly. Behind him, Ron sat backward onto the chair, making a “zip” motion with his fingers across his mouth. 

Hermione gave Harry’s bowtie one last adjustment, then ran her gaze across his dress robes, checking for any wrinkles or stains. Finally satisfied, she grinned and threw herself forward to embrace him.

Harry held her tightly and laughed, albeit a bit nervously. 

“Are you ready?” Hermione asked, pulling away and holding her best friend at arm’s length. 

“Not at all.”

Hermione smiled gently. “Good enough.”

This day had come upon them quicker than Hermione thought possible. Over three years had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and while each day felt endless, the novel feeling of not having something to constantly worry about usually made up for the long days and near-unbearable nights. And knowing two of her best friends were finally happy and ready to start their lives together—as young as they may have been—made the day-to-day struggle just that much easier. At least they all had something to look forward to.

The door opened slowly, and a bright blond head poked through. “’Arry?”

“In here, Teddy,” Harry answered, and crouched down to swing his godson into his arms. “Don’t you look dashing.” 

The toddler grinned and tugged at Harry’s dark red bowtie, which matched his own. With a giggle, Teddy stuck out his tongue . . . and his hair promptly turned from bright, bleach-blond to a dark, unruly, raven-black. 

Harry laughed. 

“Did Mrs. Weasley give you some breakfast, sweetheart?” Hermione asked as she ruffled little Teddy Lupin’s hair and stepped back to gather up the jewelry she’d selected for the event. 

“She did,” Ron interjected from the corner.

“Had toast an’ fruit,” little Teddy added. “An’ tea.”

Harry nodded approvingly and turned back to the mirror. 

He took a deep breath, and Hermione could sense the tension radiating from him. He usually didn’t let things affect him in this way; He’d been through too much to be nervous about really anything anymore. She understood. She herself often felt numb at the wrong times, and too sensitive about the smaller things.

But as Teddy leaned forward in his godfather’s arms to make faces at himself in the mirror, Harry’s face went pale and still as stone. 

Ron stood to join his friend across the room. “What’s the matter?” he asked, noticing the shift in Harry’s mood.

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly. He smiled. “Just nervous, is all.”

“You’ll be great,” Ron assured him, letting a hand fall on his shoulder. Teddy mimicked his movement on Harry’s opposite shoulder and gave a firm nod. 

.

.

.

“Some wedding mischief never hurt,” George insisted, to which his twin wholeheartedly agreed. 

“Focus, boys!” Arthur called from the other end of the white tent, wand raised, guiding the tent further up and up. Behind him, Molly hurried from the shed back to the house, muttering under her breath and flicking her wand here and there. A few lovely white flowers sprung up along the path to the Burrow, and some extra floating lights materialized in front of the door. 

Charlie gave the twins a vicious side-eye, glancing quickly back to the tent. “Control yourselves tonight, would you?”

“No, thank you,” George said with a grin.

“It’s our only chance to prank our baby sister’s wedding,” Fred added.

“Can’t pass it up.”

“Absolutely not.”

George nodded in his brother’s general direction. “What do you say, Fred? A few drops of Laughter Liquid in the soup?”

Bill drew a line from the corner of the tent to the ground, where a stake planted itself firmly down. “You really shouldn’t—”

“I’ve got it,” Fred exclaimed. “ We release a couple pixies—”

“NO,” came a firm shout from the three older Weasley men.

Fred raised his hands in mock surrender while George laughed quietly beside him.

.

.

.

The wedding was beautiful.

Ginny practically floated away as she walked down the aisle, clinging to Arthur’s arm. Harry’s smile was blinding from where Hermione stood, and she swore she saw a tear materialize at the corner of his eye.

They had mixed both Wizard and Muggle traditions into the ceremony, and it was simply beautiful. Hermione couldn’t describe it any other way.

But the real spectacle . . . Ginny had been planning _that_ for months.

The floating white tent sparkled and shone in the afternoon sun, just like it had been covered in glitter. The whole tent was filled with bouquets of deep red roses and soft white daisies, which also seemed to shimmer and move. Tables and chairs sat at each end, and they were covered with soft lace and more roses. A wide, open area was kept available for dancing later. The whole tent was maybe twice or even three times as big as it had been for Bill and Fleur’s wedding just four years ago, and it was more simply decorated . . . but it was no less gorgeous.

Hermione couldn’t keep her eyes off the striking beauty of the set-up.

Guests filed into the tent and filled the chairs, loudly congratulating Harry and Ginny as they went, slapping their backs and hugging them tightly. Some of Harry’s friends from his Auror program were there, and some old classmates, a few professors, some of the Weasley’s family friends, and more people who Hermione couldn’t keep straight. Neither of the newly-minted Potters had wanted a big wedding at all, but given their standing in the wizarding world, a small event had been simply impossible.

Hermione shook hands with all the guests who approached her, even though she’d hoped her position standing behind Ginny near the entrance to the tent—continuing her role as the only bridesmaid—was hidden enough to deter too much attention to herself.

But after the sixty-fourth “ _You look lovely tonight!_ ” from someone she’d never even met before, she decided she’d had enough.

While the couple mingled with their guests and Ron—ever the faithful groomsman—pasted a smile onto his face and tried not to think about the upcoming dinner, Hermione shrunk into the shadows and crept toward the nearest, darkest corner of the tent.

“Oi!” someone hissed as she took another step back.

She jerked her foot back up from where it had landed, apparently on someone’s toes. “Sorry!”

A familiar mop of red hair emerged from behind a curtain of streamers, and the figure reached out a hand and _yanked_ Hermione toward himself.

She gasped as she stumbled, but the kidnapper caught both her arms and grinned. “Sneaking around, are you, Granger? Have you finally figured out how boring weddings are?”

“I usually don’t mind them,” Hermione insisted, trying to get her bearings in the mottled, shadowy corner of the tent. She looked up to sort out which twin had been so rude as to drag her away.

She met his eyes, and instantly recognized that smirk . . . especially coming from Fred . . .

“Well, they are a lot better when there are other things to keep your attention,” Fred said with far too much joy in his voice.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, not sure what he meant or how to respond. She took a breath . . . but decided to watch what played out. “What are you doing back here? Where’s George?” she asked hesitantly, peering through the gaps in the streamers.

“George who?” he countered, feigning ignorance.

Hermione disentangled her arms from his grasp and placed a hand on her hip. “If you two are plotting something to ruin Ginny’s big day . . .” She pointed an accusatory finger, but the corner was so cramped—he had wedged the two of them between two potted plants and a balloon display—that her finger stabbed firmly into Fred’s chest.

“We would never!” He raised his hands in mock surrender and widened his eyes, still unable to keep the grin off his face. “You really think we would ever do anything to annoy our baby sister?”

Hermione fixed him with a pointed glare, which only made him smile wider, if that was possible.

“Let’s just say . . . you, personally, don’t have to worry about anything that might happen,” he added, as if that would help.

“Comforting,” Hermione said dryly. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he whispered and peeked through the hanging streamers again, trying to gauge the progression of the party. “Looks like they’re getting ready to seat everyone and serve dinner.”

“Are they?”

Fred nodded, eyes still scanning the huge dining room. His hand grasped the edge of the tent as he leaned the opposite direction, essentially trapping Hermione between himself and the two potted plants. She inhaled sharply through her nose, suddenly hyper-aware of where she was standing. A light haze draped itself over her vision. The noise from the party became muffled . . .

The only thing she could think of was the overwhelming smell of leather . . .

Leather? Where did that come from?

The ground shifted. She lost her balance.

Hermione almost pitched forward but caught herself on the potted plant and Fred’s sleeve.

The redhead whipped his head around and in a split second, took hold of her hand and upper arm, saving her from an awkward trip to the ground. He raised his eyebrows. “You alright, Granger?”

Hermione took a breath and managed to straighten herself. She blinked, cleared her throat, and shook her head. “Fine, just . . . dizzy.”

She watched as a joke or jab (probably both) formed in Fred’s mind . . . but he never spoke it, whatever it was. The twinkle in his eyes faded just a bit and his grip on her hand tightened as he held her gaze.

The air went still, and Hermione barely heard the crowd anymore.

Neither spoke.

She took a deep breath. That same smell of leather intermingled with flowers, and something orange . . .

The afternoon sun warmed the side of her face through the white tent fabric.

Time stopped.

The crowd in the background became a muffled _hum_. Hermione drew in another careful breath.

Much too soon, Fred cleared his throat and broke his gaze away.

Hermione blinked and willed the blush that had crept up her neck to go away. “I should probably—” She motioned toward the guests, who were almost all seated. A chair beside Ginny was open, and she knew the new bride would be looking for her soon enough.

“Right,” Fred agreed, and dropped her hand like it was a hot coal. “Sorry.”

She paused.

The gleeful grin suddenly returned to Fred’s face, as he glanced across the room, to where George stood. “Ah, there’s my signal.”

And with one last beaming glance back to his friend, he pushed aside the streamer curtain and disappeared into the crowd.

Hermione had to collect her thoughts for a moment before she took her seat.

She adjusted her necklace and twisted the few rings on her fingers. Smoothed her hair. Brushed off her dress . . . Watched Fred as he strode toward his brother . . .

And tried not to think too hard about green waistcoats and deep brown eyes and the smell of leather and oranges.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3  
> I do plan to continue this, so stay tuned!
> 
> Let me know what you think! I absolutely love hearing from you all <3


End file.
